The practice of receiving help

This past Sunday, I went to the beach with my husband, John, and our dog, Winston. The weather was sunny and quite warm for the first day of October. The temperate weather was a welcome shift from the seemingly constant rain of the preceding week. 

We often go to the beach during the off-season – we soak up the serene environment of a sparsely populated shore with dogs roaming freely.  We pass the time playing ball with Winston, eating snacks, and occasionally dipping into the frigid waters. This beach trip started out no differently. I enjoyed a Crimson Crisp apple as Winston and John played ball. After I had warmed a bit from the bright sun, I made my way to the water.

I waded out slowly, staying close to shore to keep my footing with the massive waves. The water was cold, but my body adapted quickly, and I continued to wander deeper.  I felt a sigh of relief as I took in the vast, expansive sea. I was floating about when my tranquil experience was interrupted by a feeling of excruciating pain in my right foot.

What the @#%$ is that? I thought as the feeling of pain radiated throughout.

I hobbled my way out of the water and revealed a fishing line with three hooks, one of which had hooked me. John, witnessing these events unfold from our beach blanket, sprang into action as he saw me limping. He packed up our beach bag and harnessed Winston as I assessed this foreign object. I quickly determined I would not be able to remove this on my own; we would need to employ the help of a professional. 

Now, I'll spare you all the explicit details of the hook removal but know it involved a trip to the beach fire station where Mike and Clifford (two firemen, no big red dogs) wrapped my foot, followed by a trip to an urgent care center where a very kind and compassionate front desk attendant informed me that they do not have the tools to extract a fishhook, and ultimately a trip to the ER where my Pisces doctor (seriously, I can't make this stuff up) removed the hook and administered a tetanus shot. 

As I reflect on this event, I keep coming back to the experience of receiving help. I'm not always the best about asking for and ultimately receiving help. I have the tenacious "I can do it" attitude of a toddler learning how to drink water out of a cup. Often, I can do things independently, but I definitely make a mess at times. I see the value in times of doing it yourself. It's through the experience of making mistakes that you learn. It's through the experience of figuring it out that you gain confidence.

However, there are plenty of things I cannot do myself and times when I need help. And this experience was one of them. I was not equipped with the tools to remove that hook safely. And while it was something I could have done, I wouldn't have been better by having done it myself. I needed the skilled attention of a medical professional to assess and remove it without further damage. 

As we readied to leave the exam room, John offered me his arm as support while I walked. I initially noticed a self-reliant attitude surface; I'm fine, I thought. I can walk on my own. 

But in the next moment, I thought, But why? Why not take his arm? Why not receive a moment of support?

I held his arm as I limped slowly to our car. I received this offering of kindness. I allowed myself to be vulnerable and receive support. 

As we plodded along, it dawned on me that it wasn't only about me needing to have his arm for additional stability. Through the offer of his arm and an offering of help, he was also offering love. And by receiving his help, I was showing him love in return.

Oftentimes, when someone offers help, it's also their way of saying. Hey, I'm thinking about you. I care about you, or even, I love you.

Receiving help can be tricky. There might be feelings of not wanting to inconvenience someone. Or that strong-willed feeling of wanting to do it all yourself. It requires vulnerability. It requires opening ourselves to others. It means recognizing our dependence on one another. 

However, through asking for and receiving help, we can forge deeper connections with one another. It becomes a practice of sharing kindness and showing someone that not only do you care about them, but you trust and value them.

Yes, there are plenty of things that we can do on our own, but do we always need to? Might we benefit from receiving the support presented to us at times? Could we show others that we care by receiving the support sent our way?